Demon Hunter Bundle

Screwing up isn’t new for me, but getting possessed by Lucifer’s son takes the prize.

I’m Lucia Sunder, and I’ve snatched an apprentice spot at the League of Demon Hunters. Score!

I want to move quickly up the ranks, so when I overhear that a demon has been spotted in Grand Central Station, I’m determined to quell it.

But what I find when I get there is totally unexpected. Who knew demons could be so sexy? He’s a delightful sin wrapped up in Armani.

Give me a break!

As I pull out my Quelling Sword, I quickly realize I’m in over my head. He’s no ordinary demon. He’s the son of Lucifer, Drevan Morningstar, the future King of Hell.

The next thing I know, I’m possessed by him, and the League of Demon Hunters is out to kill me.

Drevan says he’s on a mission to save humanity—yeah, right!—and lucky me, he has decided I’ll be his helper. He promises to go back to hell once we succeed. But how am I supposed to help him when demon hunters are determined to stick their Quelling Swords right through my heart?

Yet, I have no other choice. I need to work with the devil and hope I won’t lose my soul in more ways than one.

I didn’t want to just read about demons. I wanted to freaking put an end to one of them, take a Queller in my hands, and
slash it right back to hell. Instead, I was in my room, studying at my desk.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed my History of Demons tome aside and slumped in my chair. I lazily extended a hand toward the skull prop sitting on my bookshelf and used my
telekinetic powers to levitate it into the air.

“You aren’t giving up already, are you, Lucia?” Jenna asked
from her desk.

Jenna Griffin was the owner of the skull, and my roommate at
the League of Demon Hunters—LDH, for short. It wasn’t even October yet and she’d already decorated the entire room in a Halloween theme. Her side of the room had tangles of fake spider webs and the silhouette of a witch on a broom
hanging from the ceiling. She said she loved celebrating holidays, but that
Halloween was her favorite, hence all the decorations.

We shared a room with two twin beds pushed against the
walls, two built-in desks/bookshelf combos, and two tiny closets. We had a
window that faced the back of the school, which had a view of a small courtyard
that led to Perry St. The courtyard had pretty trees, cement benches, and a
wrought iron fence. On both sides, two tall buildings loomed like giants,
making the otherwise idyllic courtyard feel claustrophobic.

But that was New York City for you. West Village to be more
precise.

Jenna swiveled in her chair to face me. A big tome rested on
her legs. She had black chin-length hair and wore horn-rimmed glasses. She was
very cute with a heart-shaped face and big wide eyes the color of a summer sky.
I liked her well enough. I had two older sisters, and I knew how hard it could
be living with other girls, but Jenna was all right. She could stand to be a
bit more fun, but I wasn’t going to complain. All she thought about was
studying. She was bent on becoming a great demon hunter like her parents and
their parents before her. She belonged to one of those families with a demon
hunting tradition… unlike me. She was rich as well… also unlike me.

“Honestly,” I said, “I thought this apprenticeship would be
more fun, but all we’ve done is go to class after class and read book after
book. I want some action! This is excruciating.
I had way more fun in high school.”

I grew up in St. Louis and moved to New York last month when
I earned one of the coveted spots at the LDH along with a scholarship. My chest
bursting with excitement, I’d packed one bag with my favorite clothes and said
goodbye to my mom and sisters, gearing up for adventure. I wanted nothing more
than to be a demon hunter. It would mean a life full of excitement, prestige,
and wealth.

The problem was… I was yet to have a tenth of the fun I’d
imagined.

“We have to
study,” Jenna said. “This stuff is important. They can’t just send us into the
field without preparation.”

“Sure, but we could at least do some practical stuff.”

“We will.”

“Not for eleven more months.”

“We are apprentices.
Besides, if we don’t pass the theoretical stuff, we’ll never get to the fun part.” She made air quotes.

Witchlights!
Preach much?!

Groaning, I stood up and stretched, gently lowering my hand
to deposit the skull back on the shelf. My back popped and I let out a huge
yawn. “Let’s go to the kitchen and get something to eat. I’m hungry.”

Jenna shook her head. “Uh-uh, it’s almost midnight. Two
hours past curfew. We could get in trouble.”

“Only if we get caught,” I said with a smirk.

Curfew. I had a curfew! Everyone was supposed to be in their
room after 10 PM, and I could only go out on Friday and Saturday. This was
worse than living with Mom. She’d at least let me stay out until 11 PM on
weekdays and 1 AM on weekends—not that I actually stuck to those rules. It was
easy sneaking out the window once she went to sleep.

I took Jenna’s book from her lap and set it on her desk.
“C’mon.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her along toward the door. She needed to
live a little.

She stiffened. “I don’t know, Lucia. I don’t want to get
punished.”

I ignored her. “Hmm, I’m thinking French bread with a lot of
mayo, tomatoes, lettuce, a pound of that deli meat and cheese they like to buy,
and a cold glass of chocolate milk.”

“That does sound tempting.” Jenna’s stomach growled and her
eyes grew dreamy as she probably imagined a twelve-foot-long sandwich.

“We’ll go, make our sandwiches really quick, and bring them
here. No one will notice us.”

She nodded, her straight hair swinging around her face, but
then she frowned and peered at her clothes, then back at mine. She was wearing
a flannel pajama set. It was black with a pattern of orange pumpkins and purple
ribbons. I was still dressed in a pair of ripped jeans, black converse, and a
baggy gray hoodie. My dark brown hair was up in a high ponytail.

“Maybe I should change?” she asked.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. No one will see you.”

I pulled her along.

“Wait!” She ran back and blew out her pumpkin spice candle.
“Wouldn’t want to burn the place down.”

The place was
known as “Striker Hall,” named after Konrad Striker, the founding father of the
LDH over three hundred years ago. According to our History of Demon Hunting tome, he was the best demon hunter to ever
live. During his lifetime, he quelled over five hundred demons and exorcised
almost as many. Striker Hall was a colonial five-story building, occupied most
of the block, and boasted a two hundred thousand square foot floor plan with a
grand hall, staircases galore, lecture halls, training rooms, kitchens, and
even secret passages—not that I’d encountered any. It was a cool building, for
sure. Aside from being a school, it was also LDH’s  main headquarters. There were annexes in
other cities, but this was where it all began.

I carefully opened the door and peered into the dimly lit
hall. Though our teachers could’ve used magic to make sure we stayed in our
rooms, they went by the honor system instead. I’d been out past curfew several
times already and it had been as easy as child’s play. A few student monitors
prowled the halls, but they were easy to evade.

Jenna and I walked quietly down the hall. She looked pale
and terrified as we made our way past our classmates’ rooms. Their doors were
closed and most had their lights out already.

Such
an obedient bunch. Replace obedient with “bo-riiiiing.”

“Maybe we should go back,” Jenna whispered as we reached the
end of the hall and entered an ample common room lined with bookshelves and
furnished with comfortable chairs and sofas.

“Nah,” I said. “There’s no one around.”

We crossed the common room and exited on the other side into
another long corridor. I took a right.

Jenna grabbed my sleeve. “The kitchen is this way.”

“This is a shortcut,” I lied.

She frowned but didn’t argue and continued following me.
Around the bend, we reached the massive double doors that led into the
teachers’ lounge. I turned the knob and popped my head in.

“What are you doing?!” Jenna hissed.

“Have you ever seen Konrad Striker’s Queller?” I asked.

She shook her head, her eyes wide with panic. “I haven’t,
but we shouldn’t go in there. Let’s get back to our room.”

“We’ll just be in and out,” I said. “Don’t you want to lay
eyes on the greatest demon hunter’s sword? The very same one he used to quell
all those demons.”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. C’mon.” I shoved her into the room before she
could protest again. I had secret plans of making her my partner in crime. She
just had to gain a little bit of confidence, and I didn’t mind helping her along.
She was definitely book-smart but lacked in the bravery department.

Jenna stumbled into the room and pressed a hand to her mouth
just as a squeak escaped her. I closed the door behind us and faced the room.
The area was twice as big as our common room and furnished with expensive sofas
and chairs, all of them made with leather and carved wood.  Plush rugs created separate sitting areas
perfect for our stuffy teachers to sit around and complain about us. Several
ornate antique lamps illuminated the space with warm light, leaving the corners
swathed in darkness.

I glanced around looking for the Queller. I’d heard several
students say this was where they kept it. Quellers were forged in heavenly fire
then blessed by priests, ministers, rabbis, Tibetan lamas, and all manner of
religious figures. When held with intent, they glowed with blessed power that
could banish demons back to their realm.

There were several bookcases and glass-encased pedestals
housing artifacts, but nothing that looked like a sword. I walked further into
the room, Jenna staying close to me. She walked with her shoulders hunched
over, and her eyes roving around the room as if she expected a horde of demons
to spring from the floorboards.

Fat
chance. We had been taught that the building stood on hallowed
ground, and no demon could ever manifest within its walls. The only way they
could come in was inside of a host’s body, someone they’d possessed, except
everyone got tested before entering. The only demons that roamed these halls
were our teachers, who seemed to delight in our torture.

I leaned closer to peer inside one of the glass-encased
pedestals. It contained several round pendants with shiny jewels set in the
middle. Some had sapphires, others emeralds, topazes, diamonds, and more.

“These look like that pendant you wear.” I read the label
under one of them. “Martin Price’s Periapt.” Now that I thought about it, I’d
seen several teachers and students wearing them. “What are they?”

Jenna glared at me. “What are they?” she echoed incredulously.
“Haven’t you been studying?”

Oh,
shit.

“Um, yeah. Sure. I just forgot.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying my lie.

I moved on, peering all around for signs of Striker’s
Queller. After a few minutes of searching, I stopped, hands on my hips. “It’s
not here.”

“I guess not. C’mon, let’s go.”

I shrugged, resigned to the limited excitement of getting a
midnight snack. We turned and headed back the way we’d come, and that was when
I saw it, mounted on the wall right above the door.

“There it is!” I exclaimed, pointing at the sword.

Jenna glanced up, startled for a moment, then whispered in
awe. “So cool.”

I had to agree. The sword was really something. The blade
shone silver, and a large red jewel was inlaid in an intricate cross-guard.
Supple leather covered the grip, and the round pommel was polished to a shine.
It hung from a couple of hooks, its matching leather scabbard right below it.

“One day, I’ll get a Queller like that,” I said.

“Yeah,” Jenna said. “Except without the jewel and carved
details. They don’t make them like that anymore.”

I rolled my eyes. Jenna called herself a realist, but
really, a better name would be party pooper. Besides, her parents had money and
could probably buy her a similar sword. Maybe she was just referring to me. I
certainly couldn’t afford anything like it. I did my best not to take it as a
jab at me.

“I’d love to hold it.” I lifted a hand toward the sword, my
fingers itching with my telekinetic powers.

“Don’t you dare!” Jenna gripped my wrist and dragged me out
of the room, surprising me. She rarely acted so resolutely. On the other side
of the double doors, she released me, glaring up at me like an angry mother
hen. She was 5’4”, four inches shorter than me. But at that moment, that didn’t
matter. She looked hella intimidating.

“You have no respect for anything, Lucia,” she said. “I
can’t believe it.”

“I wasn’t going to touch it. I was just kidding.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Chill out, Jenna. C’mon, let’s go get our sandwich.”

“No, I’m going back, and you should do the same.” She turned
on her heel and angrily stomped down the hall. Though her dramatic exit was
spoiled by the way she kept glancing around in fear of being discovered.

I was about to head toward the kitchen when I thought I
heard voices. I held my breath and listened. Curious, I turned and walked in
their direction. The voices grew louder, and I realized I recognized them. I
stopped at the balustrade of a wrap-around balcony that overlooked the grand
foyer below and hid behind a thick column.

Three people were talking in a circle. I recognized two of
them: Josephine LeBeau and Darrold Grant. The former was Striker Hall’s
director, and the latter was the most accomplished demon hunter of our time.
Nothing like Konrad Striker, but he intended to unseat him as the record holder
for the most demons quelled. I’d heard him say it myself when he came to speak
in our Demonology class.

Arrogant
dick! I didn’t like him at all.

I thought I recognized the other person. He was a third-year
apprentice that had substituted for one of our teachers a couple of weeks ago.
He was a proper boy who always wore a white shirt and tie. Now, though, he was
pale and agitated, his dirty blond hair in disarray, his eyes wide as if he’d
seen Lucifer himself.

“Calm down, Jones,” LeBeau said in her calm, lightly
accented voice. “Explain it from the beginning.” The director was in her
mid-forties. She had short brown hair, which she slicked back in a practical
way. She was French, about 5’8”, and pretty fit for her age. Her serene manner
inspired trust and respect.

Jones took a deep breath and shook himself. “I’m sorry,
Madame LeBeau.”

“Go on,” Grant urged with a healthy dose of irritation he
didn’t try to conceal.

He was about the same age as LeBeau, but that was where the
similarities stopped. His blond hair was always coiffed in a style too young
for his age, and his arrogant manner inspired nothing but the desire to give
him a solid kick in the ass. He was some rich, New York asshole who walked
around as if he owned the place. His prying eyes darted up. I pulled back,
holding my breath, praying he hadn’t noticed me.

“A report just came in,” Jones started, measuring his words.
“It’s from the lookouts at Grand Central Station.”

Grand Central Station was one of those places that always
teamed with demons. From what I’d learned in class, Lucifer’s subjects didn’t
cross over to our realm often. Most never did, and those that managed it broke
out once every decade or century or whatever. So when they returned, they
tended to revisit familiar places.

I peeked around the column carefully. Grant had gone back to
scowling at Jones.

“Um,” Jones hesitated. “The lookouts believe they’ve just
spotted a level B demon.” He finished, looking as if he was about to pee
himself from a combination of fear and excitement.

“Level B,” Grant echoed, a huge smile spreading across his
face.

Wow! That was nothing to sneeze at.

Demons were classified from A to G. Lucifer was level A, so
a level B demon was nothing to sneeze at.

“Any idea what demon?” LeBeau asked.

Jones seemed to shiver before saying. “They believe it might
be Drevan.”

“Drevan?!” Both LeBeau and Grant echoed at the same time.

Drevan?
I wondered who the hell that was to make LeBeau and Grant look so surprised.
There were many infamous demons. I remembered Lucifer, of course, and Azazel
because they were fallen angels. Also Asmodeus because he was a prince of hell
and represented one of the seven deadly sins—lust or something—but most of the
names the teachers mentioned in class disappeared from my mind as soon as I
left the classroom. I never had a good memory for that kind of thing.

Grant’s smile grew wider. He looked like a Walmart shopper
who’d just heard about a sale on the clearance aisle. He was salivating.

“I will take care
of him,” he announced.

“I think we’d better bring a full team,” LeBeau said.

Grant’s smile died a sudden death. “No need. I can take care
of him on my own.”

LeBeau grunted skeptically. “This is Drevan we’re talking
about. He’s no trifling matter. If he’s here, it can’t be a good sign. It probably
has something to do with the increase in demon activity we’ve been seeing
lately.”

Grant inclined his head and smiled politely. “Of course,
Director.”

“May I accompany you, Madame Director?” Jones asked,
practically trembling on the spot.

“No,” LeBeau said emphatically. “Do make sure to assemble
Demon Hunters Wong, McBride, Gillespie, and Cruz.”

Jones and Grant both deflated. The people LeBeau had named
were all seasoned demon hunters. Wong was my Demonology teacher, and he had
some stories to tell. Jones couldn’t hold a candle to them and Grant didn’t
want them as competition.

Whoever this Drevan was, he sounded like a big shot. I
pulled away from the balustrade and tip-toed backward into the hall. A crazy
idea started to take shape inside that irrational corner of my brain.

What if I quelled
this Drevan? A first-year apprentice besting the likes of Grant and LeBeau?
That would definitely get me out of all the boring lessons. Or at the least it
would help me get to the practical stuff a lot faster. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Maybe one of the teachers would even pick me as their protégé. All my
classmates had been talking about that. The spots were few and coveted.

But it was a ridiculous idea, there was no way I could
actually quell a demon, was there? Much less a high-level one. Still, maybe I
could learn something—a lot more than what I was learning from my teachers and
their boring tomes.

My heart started pounding, and adrenaline sent a thrill of
energy into every corner of my body, and I knew. I had to go. I hadn’t felt
this excited since I’d broken into the principal’s office last year to switch
his hairpiece adhesive for something less sticky, a stunt that had paid off
when he was scolding us during a speech and his fake hair slid off to the side
of his head. He’d gone on for ten full minutes without noticing while we tried
not to die from repressing our laughter. It was Coach Sullivan who’d finally
lost it and gave it away.

I ran down the corridor, back the way I’d come. There was a
fire escape at the back of the building that I could use to get out. Then I
could take the subway to Grand Central Station. I would be there in no time.

As I crossed in front of the teachers’ lounge, another
brilliant idea assaulted me. I skidded to a stop, my heart pounding faster than
ever.

A small voice in the back of my head tried to make itself
heard.

Don’t
do it, Lucia. Don’t do it.

But I’d never listened to that voice. I wasn’t my older
sister, Daniella, who only ever did reasonable stuff. Or my middle sister, Toni,
who did the right thing half of the time. Nope, I wasn’t anything like either
of them—at least according to Mom, who once said my middle name should have
been “Screw-up.” Admittedly, when she said that, I’d just tried to flush my
failed hair extensions down the toilet.

I shrugged. This was no time to prove my mother wrong. She
wasn’t even here.

Cautiously, I entered the teachers’ lounge again. It was
still empty and inviting. I shut the door, whirled, and glanced up at Striker’s
Queller.

“Come to mama,” I said, wiggling my fingers toward it.

The sword lifted from its hooks as I used my telekinetic
powers to bring it down from its perch. I had inherited my powers from my
mother’s side of the family. She was a Skew, which was what Stales—people
without powers—called us. All of my siblings, two sisters and a brother, were
also Skews. Daniella was a healer, Toni a tracker and a werewolf—long story—and Leo a mage.

The weapon slowly descended in my direction. When I wrapped
my fingers around the hilt, a jolt of electricity passed through me.

Damn!

I shuddered, a strange feeling washing over me. The Queller
felt just right between my fingers, like it belonged there, like it should be
mine.

A smile stretched my lips as I held the sword in both hands
and slashed at the air. We had been practicing in our Quelling class, the only
fun time during days that dragged like slimy slugs. I was far from an expert,
and we used wooden swords, but I was the best out of all the first-year
students. I would at least be able to hold my own if it came to it. Not that I
thought it would.

I was just going there to watch and learn.

Quickly, I got the scabbard down from the wall and sheathed
the sword. Next, I took off my hoodie, fastened the scabbard’s leather straps
around my torso, and ran out of the teachers’ lounge, re-stuffing my arms
through the hoodie’s sleeves.

I needed to hurry if I was to get to Grand Central Station
in time to witness the action.

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